the eve of them all when anticipation is about to rendezvous with hope, while parents lose sleep over wrapping perfect, children force their eyes to close in an act of obedience to the ticking clock. 12.24.17

the tree carries its fruit like a burden, rotten, many lay strewn on the ground, branches hang low with responsibility; i feel the urge to free this tree of the ripe bounty that dangles just on the verge of rot… but still, i pass it by, unwilling to intervene with the cycles…